"intercepting" poems
mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
with
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have vomit-stained carpet posted
and
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it ****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
1516
No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast—
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.
2k
I hold my cards
close to my chest
on this night that is
oh so close.
No fan
to blow
air into my face,
not that it would
matter anyway.
The air
would just
remind me
that it is hot
this summer night.
I am drinking beers
while the fruit flies
are sharing with me.
No sense
in picking them
out of the cup..
more will arrive.
The woman
who lives upstairs,
how can she ride her bike,
on such a summer night.
I hear her,
it's the sound
of rowing,
a creak-creak-creak.
88 Willow,
the building with eight dwellings.
Through the open window
I hear a dog barking,
maybe two, three blocks away.
This building that I live in,
where the walls
are so thin
you know that
they have ears.
Have ears to hear.
Creak-creak-creak..
the woman is rowing,
her rowing machine rows
out into a great big sea
of imagination,
where there
is every kind
of sea creature
that you can conjure
up in your mind.
And her
boyfriend, a fine
painter and sculpture.
He wants to do the
cover of my next book..
And I think, like that's ever going to happen.
My good friend
was over tonight,
he told me a story about
how he proposed
to his 'maritime' woman.
She cried and she cried
after she saw the ring,
not because it was so small,
but because she was
beside herself
in joyful delight.
I envy what it is they have,
but what they have
requires work, hard work.
They have one tried and true
partnership.
We talked about
reaching out to extended family,
as well as brothers and sisters in blood.
Me, of my own,
my father is turning eighty.
Eight decades and I know him not.
He fought
in the Korean War
and I've yet to ask him
about it.
Not once in my life time
has he even smelled
the wartime memories
that I am sure waft up
on occasion.
Now back to 88 Willow.
There is a drunkard
living in a basement apartment.
His legs are going
from wet brain.
He only calls me when
he is drunk.
He has two drinks and
he starts fumbling worse
than a line backer
intercepting
a foreword lateral pass.
I don't want to move,
though I know I have to,
to keep on keeping on,
I've got to move,
I have to move.
© 2013
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
*I urge you not to trust a magician
Leaves you in disbelief,
makes you question without permission
Perception is everything,
intercepting your understanding,
patience is wearing thin
I promise you
I was a victim of trusting
someone who’s double faced
Showing me tricks, and
they had me begging for double takes
A bitter pill that I always had trouble swallowing,
please heed my words
as I warn you about the following:
I paid to see* Fate The Fantastical
*Showing sketchy tactics and
very far from magical
Stuck in your life and you're seeking help?
He'll try to convince you
that he's the monster who played
the hand that you were dealt
A "one-way" in your journey never existed
so throw those cards back in his face,
tell him “don’t get it twisted!”
Then leave the show and get your money back,
fill your money bag quick
while making your own plans
with money stacks
I saw the power of* The Spellbinding Heart-Breaker
*He promises forever but claims he’ll see you later
I caught him backstage
rehearsing his apology
illusionist at heart
and a student of escapology
A Houdini whodunit level of disappearance
Shackled by love and commitment,
begging for interference
And my advice is that
you crash his performance
Reveal him to the audience,
damage would be enormous
The mental menace known as* Doubt The Diabolical
*The worst of the bunch since
he’s demanding and methodical
He has the gift to convince you
To give up on your dreams,
Taking the stage with volunteers,
“voices” sing his theme
Enticing suicide, heartless,
and pushes you aside
Signals your sayonara by
serving you soothing cyanide
So boo him off the stage
as loud as you can!
Steal his thunder, change the world
'cause I’m one among your many fans!*
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
this devilish craft
by which you lead me down the wet road
down through the spent leaves littered along the side of the pavement
some with their open faces upwards
fine lines intercepting
trace them with fingertip and craftsman's eye
paste them in scrapbook
keepsakes of a fall romance now that its spring
but they resurface
bakes a sunday morning bread filling the house with earthen tones of scent
and filling the mind with cravings from childhoods fable
and i pass this dark bread to her
but she refuses it
i eat of my own conversation within my mind
going over and over the exchange of ideals
that have never been held
beyond the borders of thought
its within this madness she foils my defences and
pulling me forward into the afternoon's slow lazy breath
and rifled through my brazen pocket treasures
thinking to have daring crimes of her own
from which she would someday
be an old hand like me
foiled by my poormans lint
out of my pocket and into
her device of night
its forced lock lay broken against the breached wall
but she is the pretender's delight
and make great noise and show of denial
seating me at a banquet for hungry hearts
her healed hand burnish and clean
leaves me at last
sitting among my peers
with a rolls royce of romance
she just laughs
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
My mind begins to whisper and speak,
Bizarre stories, grotesque honesty,
"It's only true love you ever seek"
Tearing myself apart constantly.
When illusions always perceive me,
My mind stays forever incomplete,
If small details were so plain to see,
Intercepting your cold hearted feet.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
body remains a scripture or an elixir?
my sins will deliver aroma in a mixture.
euphoria of the of the miracle comes from more than one ******
see her in the air, here's her love now choke on it.
trashed vows, you married an astronaut
i cant breathe, snort more moon rock
So journey with me without recluse.
we erupted without fear, choices would take us there,
problems once again become magnetic
work her body and stretch em like calisthenics.
her weapon was every section of her body that came without electric
intercepting our tongues and pinching off depression.
pixels, links and interception will only drown our spirit
when you smell fear,
positively you'll hear it.
her cortex remains a vortex
tangibility in our whispers
*** in our champagne,
tears in our calypso.
no poem should ever,
be written in blisters.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Such a pretty face coupled with a destructive mind,
Intercepting and interjecting into every thought all the time.
Poor little girl lost everything she once had,
I'm trying to feel something but all I can come up with is mad.
Not sure if I lost it seeing how I never had it,
But I feel a part missing an emptiness that needs fulfillment.
She lost the constant in her life,
And no I'm not talking about her serrated knife.
Her boy, her friend, her only love,
Judging by her reaction I am none of the above.
Weeks or months she waited for the chance,
That she could walk away from her steady romance.
Go see me another animal like her,
*** driven and crazy but a most kind sir.
Alas when the chance finally came around,
She threw all her words away to get back in the same crowd.
All of her promises, her wishes, and her desirers,
I'm the ******* fool for thinking you weren't a liar.
He made you choose and you couldn't decide,
Which makes me your second option? No, goodbye.
No, I refuse to considered less.
No, stop trying to take off your dress.
No, I'm not your ******* pretty boy ***** leave me alone.
No, stop inviting me to your home.
No, I have had enough with these guiltily feeling and dread.
No, stop trying to get back in my head.
No, I know everything you said was just a lie.
No, you told me you loved me, WHY!?
No, I always knew he was better than me.
No, why would you want to set me free?
Loved you and hated you all at the same time,
Master and slave the tale of an incoherent rhyme.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
You arrangers of thoughts and visions.
Sharing that most personal light that filters into your lens.
Opinions on sunsets, and of Autumns,
and attempting resurrections of days gone by.
A childhood Holiday, a skipped Summer stone.
A first heartache,
or a loved one’s soul ascending.
Perfectly honest glimpses into your most precious moments.
How do you do it?
How do you make me feel like a peeping Tom as if I had stumbled upon your most private files,
your family photo albums, your **** stash?
Like intercepting a note passed under a schoolhouse desk to Dorothy, ....what's her name.
Or that little red book in you Sister's night stand.
Her diary under lock and key?
No.
No, not diaries.
The visions you throw up are more than diaries.
They are ancient words that have longed to be spoken.
The thoughts of a thousand souls, you so bravely have loosed.
But you have to do this don't you?
You are so beautifully addicted.
From time to time you have to purge.
You have to stick your fingers into the throat of your mundane day jobs,
or lifeless relationships,
or awkward adolescence,
and for a moment,
for me,
throw up.
How is it that it stirs me to do the same?
I must crave that same drug as you.
To tap that vein and bleed...
But until then I will read you.
I will wander down your lonely paths,
I will let you in so that I may, for awhile,
find the tear you wanted me to shed,
find that smile you knew was there, hidden among my layers.
And then, to take a breath and cherish the tattoos you have left behind.
To read you.
To see just what you see.
Is that what it is, this poetry?
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
THE GRAND DESIGN
Esoteric Alchemy ~ To make of One Form into Many.
To See beyond the Surface Structure,
and shift its Shape
from the Ordinary into Extraordinary...
~Can’t We just Design parallel Surfaces,
without intercepting Asymptotes?
…how about with Tangent Tangerines,
or in Earthening Collard Greens?
What if I swirled into You
upon a slinky Sinusoidal Serpentine Dream…
You could slither Me up with a taste
of Your Raspberry Vanilla Eye Scream…
We should Integrate our Derivative
into the Summed Square total of its Parts…
~alas, Enter para~Plasmotic inter-Dementia,
Sparkling quarks on Celestial Utopia…
Why are there Words??
~Cause its Words that Confuse…
All of Transmission is otherwise Smooth
Why not decide when We try to Communicate,
to Assess how We Address, so the Words can Cooperate?
Cause it seems to Appear Larger in Scope,
if Viewed from up Here,
If Not for the Invent of Words did Elope,
the Fruit of War,
In the Mist ~ Disappear…
€ΘΛζΔӁλλΠΣΩΘЙΔΨΠӁζҨ
MY PROPOSAL FOR WORLD PEACE
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
In the darkest hour the sliver of light pierces through,
Illuminating the bones of our truth,
Rearranged and remoulded by the sands of time,
Revealing its raw crevices for the world to see
They say it's darkest before dawn,
In the still of the night, they danced in unison,
Intertwining individuals intercepting fate,
Setting forth a fiery flame for all the pawns in this game
Carnal desire madly racing through their veins,
Pulsing the minutes as if life depended on it,
Passion enveloping the world only they could bear witness to,
As the crack of the moon dragged her blacks across the Jungian skies
They fight for the other like no other,
They will wait out stormy seas and torrents of trouble,
Where does faith lie but if not in their hearts that had been glued back?
For the bonds of love can weather through any matter.
~Vijaya Balan and Shalini Nayar
21.10.14
(c) 2014
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Turning each pages back and forth
We've found the path which we've rode
I have something special
But you have something more
It sure is a fateful destiny
Of our path intercepting with inspiration
I was the epigraph and
You were the episode of our destiny
We were the front and the back
Together we made our story
Let's snap the memories which we made
And complete the set of our story with fate
You were the day and I was the night
You were the dark and I was the light
We made our future
Despite our differences
We travelled our own paths
But finished our story together
I had followed you and
You had followed me
But little did we know that
We were following each other
It sure is a surprise that
It is our beautiful story
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct.
until then,
Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things;
lack of resolve wrecks me.
Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections:
I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic
until then,
Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity.
They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex.
But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway
these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind
But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct
until then,
Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY
Eventually i will implode
Until then,
numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets
waiting to implode
until then,
Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
she was the incandescent body of matter
that always seemed to
wander at places she could
not call home.
she was the jot of rapture
that embodied the broken and entangled
messes of the earth,
holding them together.
she was another form of self-destruction
that ignored the blaring sirens
and stretched her hands forward,
intercepting through my body
and seizing a grip
on my heart.
she was an iota of fear
but still reached her hands towards me anyway and grounded me like a lighthouse beam reaching
towards a boat and guiding it
back to shore.
she was a scintilla of whims,
a soft-spoken disaster.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 5:20 AM UTC
Ghost chance
Translucent trance
Appear in the season
For a reason
Never hide
From a ghostly guide
Who oversees
You and me
M ight Be
E very Other You
S ee
S upernal
A ngel In All
G uidance
E thereal
S hifts
With token gifts
Of heavenly drift
Intercepting
Calm and accepting
Playing amidst
Maybe even kissed
By divine
Seraphim bliss
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
Don’t believe him when he says he’ll set you free
He’ll slice up your halo and sell it for a cheap fee
And when your sinking in the quicksand, powerless, in need
He’ll be the first to cut the rope, with a grin like those on TV
The machine has no heart yet you’re feeding it now
With words and small gestures, they’re those on the prowl
Who’ll make no exceptions for them hearts of purity
No one knows how they got that way, like those on TV
And it’s a momentary thing, permanent but not set in stone
Everyone’s wasting their sweetness on a place that can’t be home
And everyone’s dreaming of hurt instead of hope and let it be’s
Who’s intercepting our minds, probably those on TV
Walking on a wire, settling for the ball and chain
From these clichés and drama plays we don’t refrain
Who has the message, who sent us in this direction without the keys
Who’s turning this world around, is it those on TV?
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Slowly it comes, intercepting thoughts
I could have sworn it was you
I was told not to believe
Just leave he said
We can’t ever know the truth
Sudden interruptions, falling off the edge
Just close it up and try again
You never really knew how to begin
Like a fire it burns
What was on top would never return
Moving of the sheets, an absent entity
Reaching towards nothing, the need to withdraw
Happening again it must be real
The silence begs to differ and it’s time
Minutes go by to never return
And in the night it shines through
What we swore was never there
Reality becomes blurred and we see clearly
I know that you’re there
Just bring me back to you
Previous experience learn from my mistakes
If only it were worse with a witness
But now I’m alone and I know
Never was it impossible
My perception is not what it was
The ghost of you it lingers
Broken in pieces I remain
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
Sleepless nights fills my desires to fight this Demented life of battles .
swords with Kryptonite. Ashes to shadows. Every direction I look theirs someone to dismantle.
Dragon spitting flames. Hot enough to Melt the rains.A roar that leaves your bones rattled. Darkness over towers those who falls limitless to power or who opposed the handle . It's the last flicker of a candle as the hour lingers helplessly on. Every right is misplaced by wrong. Distorted Visions, All time Heights of superstitions. Mentally intense missions. To over come these dimensions Is to over come the decisions. So every choice matters when life seems to get devoured. Never turn your back and coward . The sun grows brighter as your strength grows mighter. . All the time u spend Sins after sins adds up in the end. Your visions goes blurry before it clears again. Your foes scary as the tears blows away in the Wind.
For those who criticize. Solidify the situation by intercepting pure determination. Tune the station trough meditation. see the light at end of the tunal
Just before the iritation stettles your rust turns into medal. Incapacitated toughts rips through the knots. Got to focus before the brain dies and rots. Don't roll the dice. Pay the price. For its a low cost to gain the lost. Turning sorrows into delights. The roads we take to control the stakes will leave you emotionally awake. If your tomb stone could speak you as well wouldn't sleep. No need to be discrete. Fill the nights skys with screams. Terrifying the weak. Warnings of the horror that creeps through the sheets. All the pain that follows makes it hard to swollow. Need coals to carry on. Need souls to barrow.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
Freezing water on my skin is unobserved while a warm breeze flows through my steady state of detached focus
Comfortable illusions embraced by the tribe, you look to me and see something of a demon, to be feared, yet respected
I stand tall as any man might, my gaze contains an eternal essence, an angel in this creature
A vessel of blood and bones, feels the emotion of an abandoned infant, the alienation of a wolf betrayed by its pack
Continued to climb with broken arms, walked with a shattered heart, intercepting the silence with bitter expressions of being
Once blindness had become so much better than seeing, watching brothers bend beauty to fit a God forsaken form
I look now upon your beaten face without pity, painfully acknowledging the choices you have made
The sounds of war replaced the quiet calmness of the child I used to be
Weeping without recognition, you scoffed at this agony
Now night after night I contemplate our complacency,
wondering when the rivers of blood may awaken the hearts sacred sense of urgency
A soul of the whole world. I watch the floods and flames engulf the stillness that once was, the peace that was taken for granted, now falling down, and heaven cries it's last goodbye
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC
There's something inside
That I cannot see
I'm stuck in a place I don't want to be
It grips me tightly
Words trapped in my throat
Intercepting the thoughts I later wrote
It says "why bother"
When no one else did
You're just so small and the world is so big
It says "what's the point"
You're so exhausted
Animosity burns within the tainted
I'm sorry to you
I'm sorry to me
I let out the bad for others to see
I tried to be good
By sharing a smile
But give an inch and they take a mile
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
Headstrong Tornado
I feel like I failed myself for not joining the Royal Air Force
I wanted to join for years ever since I was a kid
But my teenage moods got in the way
Like they did with most other things
And still do but I see them for what they are, moods
Which stopped me from being elite
And serving my country and deterring the enemy
Be it Soviet Russia or anyone else
Looking back I realise things were as bad as they were
My moods were a hurricane of what?
Teenage angst about not having a girl?
Pressure cooker emotions caused by my dominant mum?
Peer pressure rivalry to be normal and one of them?
Being bullied and having to fight for my existence?
Simply living and being me in my head and world
A world where I want to fly and dream of the sky
Like I have every day since I was born
The fact that it could of been different
Nick the Tornado F3 pilot intercepting Soviet Bear bombers
But my eyesight went bad and i never got full grades
So it was my unfulfilled dream up in the clouds
Yet it wasn't all doom and gloom
I did re-arm IX SquadronTornado planes with practise bombs
This was in 1986 at RAF Honington with Sgt Edwards
That made up for my career failure
Even if it was just for a day
In my memory that day never ends...
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.
Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.
It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.
Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC